Chapter Text
The innkeeper isn't welcoming but he has the coins so she doesn't fuss too much after that, only grumbling over his size as she preps his accommodations.
When Dunk steps further inside, ducking although his head doesn't even touch the ceiling, he expects a warm meal and a drink, then to find lodgings for the night, as his horses rest in the stables, a rather simple plan, but there's a man in the corner of the room, sitting at a table with the gloominess of the night surrounding him, and a baby crying.
The baby is in a wicker basket. The man had left his baby inside a basket. Dunk has seen worse admittedly, babies that aren't even properly clothed and only had torn sheets to keep them bundled up, and their beds would have to be in their mother's arms, or left aside on crates as they worked, it wasn't the worst at all.
This baby at least had a proper bed. In a basket.
And the baby is wailing while the man is slumped, sleeping or passed out drunk since there's a tankard knocked over on the table beside his hand.
Dunk moves on instinct, compelled to solve this even though he knows he shouldn't. But he's always been stupid, as he's oft told yet his heart wants to soothe this baby's distress.
The man isn't aware of what's happening as his face is planted on the table top so he doesn't react when Dunk carefully picks up the basket that feels so small and light in his hands as the baby inside squirms and cries, little fists swinging in the air for justice.
"You'd punch somebody's eye out," Dunk says to the baby with light humor. His voice seems to confuse the baby since she pauses as she adjusts to her senses and cocks her head to the side, lips quivering, and eyes scrunched up.
And she's so tiny that Dunk realizes she needs the basket, because if he held her in his actual hands he fears he might crush her. He's seen bigger pups than this. She has to be newly born, because there's no way she's older than a few months. Her crying has made her face all red and she sniffles pitifully, her small chest heaving as she tries to breathe, and Dunk suddenly detests the man that's left her this way.
Dunk doesn't know the man's story or why he's here, but he knows the man shouldn't be drinking around her for one.
Who knows how long she'd been crying before he walked in?
He sets the basket back down on the table carefully, and digs through his satchel for a rag he'd use for rubbing down his sword, but it's clean, without any oil stains on it, and after double checking because he isn't that much of a moron that there's nothing on it, he tenatively wipes the baby's face dry, and tries to get her to blow her nose.
She only rubs her nose into the rag and huffs irritably.
He smiles, dropping the rag back into his bag and tries to pick her up again helpless to some instinct that won't allow him to leave when he should. But then a loud slicing sound through the air startles him and he jolts back as a dagger stabs into the table, and he watches, wide eyed as the man that had been passed out lifts his head up, staring at Dunk through long locks of hair that's fallen over his forehead.
"What. Are. You. Doing. With. My. Daughter," the man, the omega, because he's an omega, growls out fiercely with bloodshot eyes. Dunk's mind is blank, utterly and complete without thought when there's a lot he should be saying to berate this man and explain himself because the baby was crying and he'd couldn't ignore that.
The omega's the one that had been sleeping throughout it all, and he smells of wine, so he'd been drinking too much that it's become his perfume.
Dunk's mouth moves but soundlessly. The disapproval he had is gone within a blink of an eye as he helplessly stands there.
Gods, the revelation that the man was an omega doesn't change the fact that he'd been terribly neglectful of his baby, yet Dunk's never seen one so mad, in the tint of his eyes, in his crazed expression, with his teeth bared.
He stares at Dunk like he's the beast here that's come in to steal his baby, and maybe it seemed that way, it would since Dunk is so huge and the baby is so tiny, so Dunk raises his hands to placate the omega, taking a step back.
Dunk's seen all sorts of omegas when he's grown up in Flea Bottom and when he'd been Ser Arlan's squire, the man had told him that there was no such thing as a typical one unless they were of noble birth, or a prince or princess because they're the godly standard for everyone else. But impoverished people and survivors relied on their instincts over being pampered and coddled to worry over their appearances. They didn't care to be the omega the septon would exalt highly in his sermons.
Omegas that Dunk have seen are small and nimble, thieves, big and scrappy, rogues, whores, and then the older ones that used to beat him bloody on the streets for scraps because they were hungry, so it's just a dawning kick in the brain whenever he meets one, to be on guard.
This omega looks mad, and Dunk doesn't want to deal with that, but it makes him more resistant to ignoring the blatant issue. Leaving the baby with the omega, mother or not, would be bad, and leaves a sour taste on his tongue so pungent he becomes frustrated. "She was crying," he manages to get out. An accusation but a wary one.
There's a still of a moment as the omega considers his word, sharp end of the dagger pointed his way. He glances over at the basket, shoulders not losing their tension. "She seems peaceful to me," he says with a bite.
"Because I held her," Dunk says, a little bit amazed by this omega's idiocy, and he's the one thinking this.
"You held my baby?" The omega says, sounding more displeased.
"She was crying, so someone had to," Dunk stubbornly says with a clenched jaw. Less threatened, instead he's concerned...this omega's drunk and mad and unaware of his baby's discomfort, but what would be the noble course of action here?
It could have just been a bad day Dunk stumbled upon instead of something commonplace.
The omega was protective which was a good sign for the baby's safety even if he's far from nurturing and been a little late to notice anything amiss, but Dunk didn't come with bad intentions.
Dunk's brows furrow when he's examined by those eyes that start to lose that wild tinge and become sharper, clearer yet still murky from wine. The color's hard to make out, but he thinks the omega has dark eyes.
Then the dagger clatters on the table, breaking the silence as the omega drops it. He turns away from Dunk to reach into the basket for his baby with a more assured handling than Dunk would have been able to replicate. He picks the tiny baby up like it's natural, and he isn't afraid to hurt her, and the baby doesn't cry when her mother holds her to his chest, cradling her carefully as he tugs down his cloak and his tunic.
Dunk's face flames up when he realizes what's happening and averts his gaze, feet shifting awkwardly. There's nothing shameful about a mother feeding their baby, so he's not sure why he feels a sense of embarrassment. But heat crawls from his neck to his forehead, sweat beading over his skin.
"Blue eyes," the omega rasps out. "I dreamed of you."
A sound escapes Dunk's throat.
"Yes," the omega says like he understood. "You're a hedge knight. What's your name?"
"I'm Dunk," he says, and he gains confidence to stare back at the man. "What's her name?" He nudges his chin at the baby, where she's nursing from her mother's teat.
"You don't care to know mine?" The omega asks slyly.
"I...well, what is it?" Dunk says, feeling his tongue thicken in his mouth because the omega's smiling now.
"Daeron," he says. "My little one is named Vaella."
"Vaella," Dunk says softly and he takes a seat at the table because standing around is awkward. Not that sitting close and staring at the omega's chest is any better, but his gaze is transfixed.
The act of an omega nursing their baby isn't new to him, but he's never paid attention.
"You said you dreamed of me?" He asks, to fill the loaded silence.
"Elm trees and stars," Daeron says distractedly. He offers no explanation, and Dunk's left staring as the omega focuses on feeding Vaella, only pulling her away when she starts to doze off, but his collar is still hanging down so Dunk sees a swollen, reddening nipple, and a milk bead that causes his throat to become dry.
The omega hums as he places his contented baby back in the basket. "I didn't know she was going to cry."
Dunk's confused to hear that, wondering if the omega is still out of it. "You shouldn't drink so much," he says, knowing it's not his place but the omega has to hear it.
"Yes," Daeron agrees half-heartedly. "She doesn't cry." He's insistent, even as his tone remains low and quiet.
"Babies cry all the time."
"Not mine."
Dunk's brows scrunch as his lips thin, not wishing to argue over what the omega would know more about even if it seems unlikely. But Vaella had been crying.
"Her father would have to remind me on the feeding times, and we had a wet nurse because I wasn't sufficient but...he wanted me to do it," Daeron says wistfully, in the beat of silence, eyes heavily lidded. "He didn't trust that our baby wouldn't get sick from someone else with the sickness spreading about. He was always so responsible that it's unfair for Vaella to be stuck with me to care for her. But all good things come to an end."
Dunk's fingers clench as a lump forms in his throat, and he tries to understand what he's heard. So the father was gone and couldn't tell the omega when his baby needed feeding anymore, and Daeron was here alone at an inn with no one else to remind him.
A pang of sympathy sharply passes through him that he feels short of breath.
Losing Ser Arlan was probably not the same thing as losing an alpha you mated, and was the father of your baby, but he understood grief. And it sparks a kinship he didn't think he would ever have after being alone, with only Chestnut, Thunder, and Sweetfoot as fellow companions.
He stares at Daeron with a more open heart. The omega wears a brown cloak over his shoulders, and underneath that a thin but loose black tunic to make it easier to gain access to his chest, and mayhaps because his nipples are more sensitive from the nursing. His collar still isn't properly adjusted as he waits for the milk to leak out and his nipple to dry as it's swelling.
It's nothing, but an observation from Dunk, as fascinated as he is watching the omega's chest. He doesn't have impure thoughts, but he wants to soothe him, make everything better somehow.
Though he doesn't know what to do, or how.
Daeron's looking at Vaella, not seeming to care for Dunk anymore, his eyes attentive as his face hovers over the basket with a sad smile, and it sends another pang through Dunk, so intense his chest aches.
Dunk couldn't infringe as a complete stranger but maybe after they got to know each other some more the omega would like to hear him out. He's journeying to Ashford and if the omega had nowhere else to go then...he shakes his head. He can hardly take care of himself with his meager ends meet, and his horses required their own care.
But someone had to remind Daeron of the feeding times, and no one else was around. Dunk can learn, and adapt, and he's stupid, he knows, but he won't forget to protect an innocent as his instincts demand and Vaella was an innocent that needed to be fed properly and held if her mother was forgetting to do so. Daeron also needed the reminder to stop drinking, someone to cut him off so he wasn't passing out when his baby needed attending to.
It could work, but Dunk's only a hedge knight. He didn't have sums, even though he would protect them both.
"You're staring," Daeron says without taking his eyes off Vaella. His voice has an odd note in it now, somewhat sultry.
"Where did you come from?" Dunk asks, wanting to clear his head of thoughts he shouldn't have.
"I'm from Summerhall," the omega says. "Ever heard of it?"
Dunk shakes his head. He only explored most the Riverlands, as he was at Pennytree last, and King's Landing was where he'd seem to be born since that was all knew before that, but no one could tell him who his parents were.
He had always assumed he'd been a bastard, like most Flea Bottom orphans. But it wasn't worth stewing over when he'd been abandoned and his life was mostly spent as an urchin before he became a squire. Most of his education came from Ser Arlan, and he knew some significant names, the people Ser Arlan had been in service of, and the capital, and the Crownlands. He knew Casterly Rock, but no Summerhall, it sounded grand though.
What halls of summer did this omega come from? He didn't look like he'd seen much sun with his pale, wane face, but Dunk can't stop thinking his bone structure assembled strongly handsome features.
Daeron stares at him now, but from the corner of his eye, head tilted slightly so his neck is slanted. His dark blond hair moves with the gesture, so more of his pale skin is exposed as it brushes back over his shoulder. Dunk's eyes only flicker over the curve of his neck for a second before he trains his gaze on the omega's face.
He thinks he catches a slight uptick at the corner of his mouth before the omega says, "You will, Ser Dunk. You will know it intimately one day."